


Make a Dragon Wanna Retire, Man

by Rainne



Series: Thank-You Fics [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fall cleaning isn't a thing, and Clint Barton's heart is in the right place, even if the rest of him is a little failboaty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Dragon Wanna Retire, Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadesymb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesymb/gifts).



> This fic is part of my Thank-You Fics, so called because they have been written as thank-you gifts to people who have donated to my mother's cancer fund, which is helping to pay for my mother's chemotherapy treatments and eventual surgeries.
> 
> If you would like to know more about my writing and my gift fics and how to get a Thank-You Fic of your own, please visit [this Tumblr post](http://rainnecassidy.tumblr.com/post/118466323344/please-help). Thanks.

It's not technically _spring_ cleaning if you're doing it in the fall, but Phil Coulson doesn't really care; he's not calling it _fall_ cleaning because fall cleaning isn't a thing.  Regardless, he hasn't been home to his little house in Tarrytown in over three months because he and Clint have been running an op in Madripoor, and the place is in _dire_ need of a vigorous tidying-up.  

So he makes a hearty breakfast - eggs and bacon and toast and fried potatoes, enough to satisfy even Phil's starveling of a boyfriend - and when they've finished eating, he sends Clint out into the yard to trim the bushes and cut the grass.  He gathers his cleaning supplies and starts dusting upstairs in the spare bedroom, throwing all the windows open to the crisp fall air as he works.  This, of course, serves the dual purpose of airing the house out and keeping him cool.

From the window of the spare bedroom, he can see Clint working in the front yard, collecting branches that have fallen out of the maple tree and toting them to the back, then returning with the electric hedge clippers to neaten the bushes along the front walk.  By the time he gets to the master bedroom, which is at the back of the house, he can hear the lawnmower going in the front yard, and he smiles. Clint loves doing the outdoor work; he says it clears his mind.  

Phil scrubs the upstairs bathroom thoroughly, then vacuums all the rugs upstairs.  Once he's satisfied (more or less) with the state of things, he starts hauling all his supplies downstairs to clean the public areas of the house.

He starts in the tiny half-bath that's tucked under the stairs, and he's just coming out with that job done when he hears something that sounds suspiciously like an explosion from the back yard.

He has a pretty good idea what's caused it, so he puts everything down and _calmly_ and _coolly_ walks through the house and out onto the small back porch - just in time to see Clint go fleeing across the yard, away from the brick barbecue grill, which is currently on fire.

Not just burning, as a barbecue grill should be, but actually _on fire._  There are actual flames shooting into the sky that have to be, at Phil's best guess, eight or nine feet high.  

On the other side of the back fence, the neighbor kids have stopped playing ball and are standing stock still, staring.  Next door on the left, Josie Wells has come out her own back door and is standing on her patio, gaping.  Her husband Mike, who was also doing yard work, is now leaning on the fence, an expression of deep respect on his face as he stares at the flames.  

"Hi, Phil!" Josie calls. She waves her cordless phone at him.  "Want me to call the fire department?"

Phil shakes his head. "Not yet," he calls back. "I think there's an extinguisher in the shed."

Moments later, Clint reappears from the shed, with said extinguisher in his hands.  He runs back across the yard toward the grill and activates the extinguisher.  It spits white foam for a dramatic two, maybe three seconds before sputtering and coughing and stopping.

Clint visibly panics.

Phil sighs. "Yes, Josie," he says. "Please call the fire department."

For the next five or so minutes, Phil, Josie, Mike, and the neighbor kids all stand there, watching Clint frantically run around the barbecue grill, stamping out flames as the fire tries to grow and managing - barely - to keep the blaze contained to a six-or-so-foot radius.  To be honest, he could probably use some help, but Phil figures he got himself into this one, he deserves it.

When the fire truck finally arrives, they plug into the hydrant in front of Josie's house and make short work of the fire, and then the five-man crew stand around and make fun of Clint for a good ten minutes before packing it in again and leaving.  Once the show is over, the neighbor kids get on their bikes and pedal off, probably to go tell all their friends about the idiot who just tried to set the whole neighborhood on fire.

Mike shakes his head at Clint. "Shouldn't have used gasoline, man," he says. "I told you to stick to lighter fluid."

"Gasoline," Phil repeats. "Well, that certainly explains a lot." 

Clint rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck.  "I just wanted it to burn faster," he explains.

Phil pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. "Stand very still," he says, and he takes a picture.  He examines the screen.  Clint is on the left side of the image, looking like the completely embarrassed dumbass that he often is.  The site of the fire is in the center of the screen: a massive, mostly-round, soaking-wet black patch that has to be six feet across.  Standing in the center of that black patch is the formerly-red brick barbecue grill.  It, too, is now solid black from the smoke and the flames, and the pile of brush that Clint was trying to burn is still piled in the middle of it, now a soggy mess of mud, ash, and partly-burned leaves and sticks.

"Clint," Phil says softly, "sometimes I just don't know what to do with you."

Clint gives him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Boss," he says softly. "I really was just trying to get it all to burn faster. I didn't figure on the big boom."

"Obviously not," Phil replies dryly.  "Well, it's not that big of a deal. The grass will grow back in a year or two and no one was hurt."  He tilts his head. "Getting all that black off the brick is going to be a job of work, though, I tell you."

Clint makes a face, turning and looking at the blackened grill with trepidation.  Finally, he turns and looks back at Phil. "Tell you what," he says. "I'll make you a deal. You go spend about four days in the city, and when you get back, there'll be a really nice looking red-brick grill right there that's just like the one we have now, and you won't ask any questions about how it got there. Fair?"

Phil bites his lip, hard, to keep from laughing. "Fair," he agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks go to Aenaria for telling on her dad and giving me the plot bunny I needed to write this. <3


End file.
